Normal
by writerofberk
Summary: Drink makes Branch talk. Dear God, does drink make him talk, makes him spill his thoughts to every leaf and flower and shrub in his path, makes him say all the stuff Sober Branch would never even let himself think. But it's only one night, and it'll only be a few sips, and besides, he's got his colors back. He's normal now. Nothing to worry about. One-shot. Branch/Poppy. Cursing.


Branch didn't drink.

Well, okay, actually, he _did_ drink, but he had three hard-and-fast rules about drinking, and he always, _always_ stuck to them, no matter what.

Rule number one, he didn't drink often. He couldn't afford to become dependent on a substance that could run out if disaster struck and the world reached its end, and he couldn't afford the distraction withdrawal would provide.

Rule number two, he didn't drink much – the stuff dulled his senses and slowed his reflexes, leaving him an easy target for any predator looking for a meal, but worse than that, it made him _talk_.

Dear God, did the stuff make him talk, made him spill his guts to every leaf and flower and shrub in his path, made him cry about his grandma ( _"It was all my fault, it was all my fault, oh, God, it should have been me, it should have been me…"_ ), or recite the more saccharine verses he'd penned about Poppy ( _"Like a sunrise, you spill across the sky in streaks of rich golden shine…you light up the entire world, and you don't even know…"_ ), had him lamenting, at length, over his one companion, the loneliness plaguing every step he took and breath he drew ( _"Why am I like this, why am I like this, why do I push them away?"_ ).

Drink loosened his tongue in the absolute worst of ways, which led him to rule number three – no alcohol in front of other people. _Ever_. No matter _what_.

He did _not_ want to end up drunkenly revealing his best-kept secrets to anyone who would listen.

But…but he _did_ want to be a normal troll.

And normal trolls drank. Normal trolls drank a lot, and normal trolls didn't care _who_ saw them, secrets and dignity and rules be damned.

And being a normal troll was starting to look a damn sight better than staying shut up inside his bunker the rest of his natural life, nothing but Poppy's invitations and his own half-finished poems and misery and self-loathing and fear forming knot after knot in the pit of his stomach for company.

And—and he had his colors back now, and he was _happy_ now, and he had _friends_ now, and he wasn't nearly so lonely anymore, and every time he looked away Guy Diamond would give him another glass and okay, if this was the way normal trolls drank, he'd drink this way, and he'd be normal just like them, and yeah, it was official, he decided, stumbling into the wall again – who the hell kept moving the walls?! – this was his best idea ever. His bestest idea ever. His bestest _bestest_ idea ever.

He walked into the wall again and frowned a little. This wall was _not_ the bestest.

Behind him, someone snickered. It sounded like Guy Diamond. Guy Diamond had been with him earlier, right? Refilling his glass? Yeah, that sounded right. Guy Diamond was good.

Branch decided he liked Guy Diamond. Branch decided he liked _everyone_. Maybe he should tell everybody he liked them. He could start with Guy Diamond, since he was right there anyway, and then he'd find Poppy and tell her he liked her, and no, wait, he should tell her he loved her because he did, and that's what you were supposed to do when you loved someone, you were supposed to tell them, right?

He should tell Poppy he loved her, and then he should kiss her. That was also something you were supposed to do when you loved someone, right? He'd have to kiss her lots of times, so she'd know how much he loved her. He didn't want her thinking he only loved her halfway because he didn't! He loved her all the way! He loved her more than anything! He loved her more than he loved safety precautions!

He turned to Guy Diamond, who still looked faintly amused. "I gotta find Poppy! Have you seen Poppy? I gotta find Poppy! I gotta—I gotta tell Poppy!"

All traces of mirth vanished abruptly from Guy's expression. "Uh, no, Branch. It's been fun, but you should think about going—

"No!" Maybe he didn't like Guy Diamond so much after all. He wanted to _stay._ He wanted to find Poppy. "No, I gotta find Poppy! You don't understand, but I gotta find Poppy! I gotta tell her, I gotta tell her, it's like the most importantest thing on earth!"

"Branch?"

There! That was her! That was her voice! She was just who he wanted to see!

"Is—is Branch okay?" Only she didn't sound right, she sounded…kind of worried? Which was funny, because Poppy never ever worried about anything ever, it was part of what made her so great and normal and not like him, not weird or awkward or alone like him.

Only he had his colors back now, he was normal now, so he didn't have to be weird or awkward or alone anymore, so he smiled at her, to show her how normal he was. "I'm okay, Poppy! You don't gotta worry 'bout me! I'm normal now, remember!" He glanced down at his skin – it had been a few weeks, and the vibrant glow had mostly faded, but he was still blue. He was _blue_ , and _colorful_ , and _normal_ , and he decided he never wanted to be grey again, _ever_.

Poppy pursed her lips, and looked at Guy. "You could have at least left him sober enough to stand."

"I can stand!" Branch declared proudly, and wobbled a little.

"We got carried away," Guy said apologetically.

"Poppy! Poppy, I gotta…" Branch slurred, leaning on the wall to keep himself upright – he should be mad at the wall, since it kept jumping in his way earlier, but he decided he liked the wall now. He and the wall were friends now! Only wait, he was supposed to be—he was supposed to be telling Poppy—he was supposed to be telling her he loved her! "I gotta tell you somethin'!"

"Maybe you should sit down," Guy suggested nervously, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"No!" Why would he sit down? He pressed himself closer to the wall. "The wall and I are friends now! I can't leave him!"

"That's so great, buddy," Poppy smiled at him. She was _so pretty_ when she smiled. And when she didn't smile, but she was _especially_ pretty when she smiled. "I'm so happy for you, but I think Guy's right. I don't think the wall will mind if you leave him for a little while. I think the wall wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."

"…Okay," Branch surrendered. He liked Poppy better than he liked the wall, anyway. Oh, right, wasn't he supposed to be telling her that? Right, okay, here goes. "I like you."

"Aww!" Poppy sat him down – he didn't know where the chair had come from, and he usually didn't trust things when he didn't know where they came from, but Poppy trusted it so he did, too – and put her hand to her heart. "I like you, too!"

"No, but," he shook his head, "I like you _different_. And I gotta tell you, but—but you're gonna have to give me a minute—or ten—'cause I gotta say it right and I fail at words."

"Poppy, I don't think—" Guy began awkwardly, but she shushed him.

"All right, buddy, you can tell me anything you want," she smiled at Branch again, and it made him feel warm and nice all over. "But first I'm gonna ask you to drink some water, okay? Can you do that for me, buddy?"

"Okay!" He agreed. He'd do anything for Poppy. She was so nice, he wanted to do everything for her. She was _so so so so_ nice. The nicest troll in the entire village. The nicestest. If there was a nicer word than that, he would use it.

Poppy beamed at him. "Branch, that's so sweet!"

Oh. _Oh_! He was talking out loud! Shit.

She handed him a glass of water, and he took it.

"You gotta drink it, buddy," she laughed a little.

No, he had to tell her he liked her! Only he had to do it right, he had to do it in a really great and creative and pretty way, and maybe then she'd say it back, even though he was weird and awkward and alone.

But she was the nicestest troll in the entire village, and he wanted to make her happy, so he obediently took a few sips of the water before setting the glass down – slamming it really, that table was a lot closer than it looked – and grabbing her hand because that was how you were supposed to do it, right? You were supposed to hold their hand, right?

Well, she wasn't pulling away, and her skin felt so nice against his, and he should write a poem about it, and he should tell her that. "My next poem's gonna be 'bout your skin."

Poppy froze.

Behind her, Guy froze, too.

"Your next—my what now?"

"I'm gonna talk 'bout how soft and smooth it is," Branch reached up and gently stroked her arm – no rough or ugly calluses like his. "I'm gonna talk 'bout how it's like—it's like—like shimmerin' sunlight on…on undyed silk. There. That's what I'm gonna say 'bout it. I gotta make it a real pretty poem if it's 'bout you."

"You're writin' a poem?"

Huh. Funny. That sounded like Cooper. Oh! It was! Cooper was here, too! When did he get here? Branch smiled at him. He liked Cooper. Oh, right, Cooper had asked him a question.

"Yep! It's gonna be 'bout Poppy, so it's gotta be pretty. Like the one I gave Bridget to say to Gristle. It's gotta be pretty, like that." He looked down at his hands – oh, he was still holding Poppy's! It was so nice, holding her hand. He liked her so much. Wasn't he supposed to tell her that? He needed to tell her that!

"What's wrong with Branch?" A new voice joined the conversation. Biggie? Oh! Branch liked Biggie! But why was Biggie asking about him? He was fine! He was normal!

"Guy got him drunk!" Cooper said gleefully.

Branch's head shot up. Somebody was drunk?! They could—they could _fall!_ They could hurt themselves!

"It wasn't like I poured it down his throat by the glass," Guy muttered. "He took it of his own free will."

" _Guy!"_ Biggie chided.

"Who's—who's drunk?" Branch tapped Biggie's arm to get his attention. "'Scuse me, who's drunk? We gotta make sure they don't hurt themselves."

There was a dead silence.

Cooper broke it, snorting into his fist.

Guy dropped his head into his hands, mumbling apologies from behind his fingers.

" _Who's_ drunk?" Branch repeated; he was starting to get irritated. This was no laughing matter! This was _safety_ they were talking about! Someone could _die_ if they didn't take this seriously! Did any of them even _know_ the statistics for alcohol-related deaths? "Guys, if someone's drunk, we gotta go help 'em! We can't let 'em hurt themselves!"

"No, no one's hurt," Poppy reached up to put her hand on his arm – silk wouldn't do her skin justice, he decided – and smiled at him. "No one's drunk, Branch, everyone's safe. Everyone's okay."

Cooper, knuckles still pressed against his mouth, began to wheeze. Guy's shoulders had begun to shake. Even Biggie looked to be fighting back a smile, and Branch frowned. Why was everyone _laughing_?

"Buddy," Poppy ran her fingers lightly over his knuckles to get his attention, and he looked at her, "I'm gonna go over there," she pointed to a spot some fifty feet away, "for just—just two minutes, and then I'm gonna come back, and I'll help you home, okay? Think you can sit tight with these guys until then?"

"Do we gotta take him home _already_?" Cooper sounded devastated. "Seein' him like this has been the best part of my night!"

"Come on," Biggie argued, "we can't let him run amok like this."

Branch blinked. Were they talking about him? "But I'm not running," he said. "I'm sitting. See?" He pointed to his chair.

"Guys, focus," Poppy pulled her hands away from his – Branch let out a little whine of protest – and put them on her hips. "I gotta tell Smidge to take over while I'm gone, and I need you guys to look after Branch while I'm gone, okay? I'll just be two minutes, I swear."

"Can we give him another drink?" Cooper asked hopefully. "'Cause, y'all, I'm really entertained."

Being entertaining—being entertaining was a good thing, right? Being entertaining meant good things, right? Well, Poppy was entertaining, and she was the goodest thing in the universe, so it must be a good thing. Branch smiled.

Biggie sputtered. "Find your humanity, Cooper."

"Just don't—don't let Branch get hurt. And don't let Cooper give him anything." And then, in a swirl of powder-blue skirts and multicolored glitter, she was gone; Branch whined again, and dropped his chin in his hands with a heavy sigh.

"Igotta tell her I love her."

Guy Diamond grew very still.

Biggie chuckled, and turned to face him. "Everyone loves her, Branch, I don't think she needs to be told."

"No, I _gotta_ tell her," Branch shook his head, "I gotta tell her that I love her different."

"You should have some more water," Guy Diamond said quickly.

Branch ignored him. "I gotta tell her, but I keep gettin' scared, you know? How do you tell someone you love 'em?"

"Oh," Biggie smiled fondly down at him, eyes lighting up, "you just tell her, Branch! Tell her how much you cherish her friendship—

"No!" Branch shook his head again. "I love her _different_ than that! I love her like I think 'bout her all the time and wanna kiss her, and hold her hand, and sing duets with her, and tell her 'bout how nice and smart and pretty and amazing she is." He blew out a breath, and sank lower in his chair. "I gotta tell her, 'cept I keep gettin' scared, 'cause I don't think she'll say it back."

"Maybe," Biggie said gently, after a very long, very terrible silence, "maybe you should wait. To tell Poppy how you feel."

"Do you think I shouldn't tell her ever?" Branch leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "'Cause that was the plan for a couple years—

Guy Diamond sputtered. _"Years?"_

"—only then we went to Bergentown together, and—I dunno, but she started actin' kinda like maybe she didn't mind me so much? Oh, and I have my colors back now! I look normal now, I can be normal now! I—I know I'm not like her!" he added quickly, because that must be why they were looking at him that way, right? They must be thinking he was crazy for ever daring to so much as hope that he and Poppy… "I know I'm not like her, I know I ruin stuff, I know I make bad stuff happen and I drag people down and I'm not always fun to be around and I know I'm weird and I know I'm not like her and I'm not like any of you, but—but I got my colors back now, I can be—I can be _happy_ now, and I can do _normal_ troll stuff now, I can stop ruinin' stuff, and…"

Okay, they were still staring at him. Okay. Still staring at him. Okay. Branch fidgeted, and looked down at his lap. When he looked back up, they were _still_ staring at him.

Maybe he'd gotten it all wrong. Maybe she was just being nice on that journey to Bergentown. Of course she was just being nice. She was always being nice.

Maybe having his colors back didn't matter. Maybe looking normal wasn't enough. Maybe doing normal troll stuff wasn't enough. Maybe all the normal in the world wouldn't help when it came to him.

"Branch," Biggie pulled him from his thoughts, voice very slow and firm and steady, "I think you should look behind you."

Branch frowned. "You think lookin' behind me is gonna help me be good enough for Poppy?"

"I think," Biggie said, still in that same slow, measured tone, "you should look behind you."

Branch really didn't think it would help – after the way these three had just gaped at him, he was beginning to think _nothing_ would help – but he threw a glance over his shoulder anyway.

Poppy was back!

Poppy was back, and she'd been gone forever, and now she was back, she was finally finally back, his favoritest person in the entire world was back, and so he started to smile at her, only she looked…she looked sort of _sad_ , and that couldn't be right, because Poppy was _never_ sad, and she was just standing there staring at him, and come to think of it, that wasn't right, either, when had Poppy ever been still or silent? Was something wrong with her? Was she—

 _How long had she been standing there?_

The thought washed over him like a wave of cold water, and suddenly his head didn't feel _near_ so weird, it didn't have that murky, stuffed-with-cotton, swimming-through-molasses feel, and oh, God, what had he just said? He'd just said—he'd just said lots of stuff—about _her_ —and—and now she was coming over here.

Branch began to panic.

What should he do? What _could_ he do? Maybe if he got up now, he'd have time to run all the way back to his bunker and disappear down there forever—he'd have to be alone again—but it'd be better than—better than—

And then she was in front of him. She was in front of him. She bent slowly at the waist, hands on her knees, to look at him, and she…she wasn't smiling. Oh, no, that was bad. Poppy always smiled. She must be _so mad_ at him. What had ever made him think she could love him like he loved her?

"Branch."

She was so close, he could feel her breath on the side of his face. He lifted his head slowly, and met her eyes.

"I gotta tell you somethin'." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"Okay." He nodded. He just wanted her to get it over with. She must be so mad at him. She must hate him.

"I gotta tell you somethin'," Poppy repeated, and she didn't sound mad, and her eyes never once left his. "Except I keep gettin' scared."

Branch frowned, and sat up a little straighter in his chair. Poppy, scared? That wasn't right. Poppy was the bravestest person he knew.

"You ready to hear what I gotta say?"

He nodded again.

Poppy hesitated a minute, drawing in a deep breath as though to steel herself. "I love you, Branch. And I love a whole lotta people! Like Biggie," she gestured to him – he glanced nervously back and forth between them, looking caught between hope and panic, "or Guy Diamond," she jabbed a finger at her friend, who had begun drinking from Branch's water glass, "or Cooper," she grinned brightly at the troll in question, who grinned back. "I love everyone in the village," Poppy continued, turning her head to keep looking at him again. "But you? Branch, I love you different."

Branch's mouth went dry. _What?_

"I love you like I think about you all the time," she went on, voice slow and soft and serious. "I love you like I want to kiss you. I love you like I want to hold your hand, and sing duets with you. I love you like I want to tell you how nice and smart and handsome and amazing you are." She took her hands off her knees, and wrapped them around his own. "I love you like all of that. Color or no color. Grey or blue. Normal or not normal. Happy or sad. In your bunker, or out here with us. I love you like all of that, Branch, and I love you like all of that no matter what."

She kissed him.

 _She kissed him._

Something exploded somewhere inside him – something warm and bright and wonderful, something amazing and electric and alive, something that had his heart hammering in his chest and his blood pounding in his ears and his hands shaking in hers, her lips tasted like—like strawberries, and sunshine, and everything he'd imagined they would, and she was _kissing him_ , she was kissing him because she wanted to—she said she wanted to—and she was kissing him because she thought him about all the time, and wanted to hold his hand, and do all the things he wanted to do with her, she said she wanted to, and she kissed him because she said she loved him, color or no color, grey or blue, normal or not normal, happy or sad, in his bunker or out here with her, and he should—he should kiss her back, right? That was what he was supposed to do. That was what he _wanted_ to do.

But—but what if he messed it up? He wanted to, but what if he ruined it? What if he just embarrassed himself? What if—what if—what if—?

 _Fuck it._

Branch decided to kiss her back anyway.

And it was the best decision he'd made in his entire life.

From what sounded like entire worlds away, Cooper whistled approvingly, and a scandalized Biggie yelled, _"Think of what you two are teaching Mr. Dinkles!"_ only Branch didn't care a bit. He'd never cared less about anything in his life. All that mattered right now was that she kept kissing him—that she never stopped—that she—that she never—

Poppy pulled away.

"You—you stopped," Branch pointed out, in what was a very reasonable tone, and _not at all_ a whine, though Cooper would say differently the next morning.

She grinned. "We need to get you home."

"No," he protested, and he definitely wasn't pleading, "no, you need to keep kissing me. For science." Okay, maybe he was pleading, a little bit. Maybe he was pleading a _lot._

Poppy threw her head back and burst into bright, sparkling laughter, shoulders shaking and chest heaving, and Cooper started to chuckle, and Guy Diamond was still hiding behind his glass, and Biggie still had one hand clapped over Mr. Dinkles' eyes, and Branch decided that things were okay.

 _He_ was okay.

Color or no color. Grey or blue. Normal or not normal. Happy or sad. In his bunker, or out here with them.

Yeah.

He was okay.

* * *

 **A/N: WOW this turned out so much shittier than I planned. I'm sorry for my entire life. I just kinda got inspired by the Netflix series ((yes I binged all 6 episodes the day it came out, and no, I'm not proud of that)).**


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